Springs Eternal
by pinkskyline
Summary: What might have happened if after Ian broke up with Mickey at the end of season 5, he went off on his own without getting treatment for his bipolar. And Sammy never came back to accuse Mickey of trying to hurt her so he never went to jail. And Mickey came up with a plan to defraud his employer in order to get medical care for Ian by pretending they were engaged.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: So I wrote the first five chapters of this multichapter fic between season 5 and 6 (you know, back when Gallavich was a thing) and stopped writing it when I was Jossed, but I decided recently to continue it (Eat it, Shameless, you can't make me hate this couple). So it does not include Mickey's arrest (Sammy just stayed wherever that moving truck took her, alright?) and Ian broke up with Mickey and refused medication and continued to make other poor life choices, as it appeared he was going to do at the end of season 5. The story picks up 3 years later. Also, Mickey is a paramedic in this story. Strange that they made Ian into a paramedic and I made Mickey into one (this was before I knew that was the plan for Ian). Swearing, vague discussions of prostitution...etc. Nothing violent or graphic.**

Ian woke up slowly and looked around. The room was definitely in a hospital, although it was a nicer hospital room than any he'd woken up in before. He was wearing a scratchy hospital gown and was hooked up to an IV and some other machines. Not a good sign.

The last thing he remembered was agreeing to go to another party for Branford. He told himself over and over that he wasn't really an escort if he wasn't on Branford's payroll, but those five-hundred dollar cash injections sure came in handy, and they popped into Ian's bank account with more regularity than he could comfortably acknowledge. And, though it was hard for him to admit it, sometimes it was nice to have someone looking out for him, even if Branford was only doing it so he could pimp Ian out to his high-class clients.

Hell, without Branford looking out for him he'd probably have HIV and be a drug addict, although he was pretty sure the pills he'd taken to be able to tolerate Branford's latest 'friend in need of companionship' were what landed him in the hospital, but at least he wasn't a junkie or a meth-head.

"So, you're awake," a woman said.

She was pretty but buttoned-up so tight it was hard to see that, at first. Wanted to be taken seriously even though she was young, probably. She wasn't dressed like a doctor, but it was hard to tell sometimes the way everyone wore scrubs in hospitals. "Where am I? What happened?"

She looked at him severely. "You were lucky. I know you young pretty boys think that it's part of gay-culture to take drugs, but those so-called party drugs are really much more serious than people think. I personally can't believe that someone with a fiancé like Mickey Milkovich would hang around Boystown taking drugs and dancing with other guys while Mickey's working a shift. But that's just my opinion. He's a friend of mine, you know."

"Mickey?" Ian asked blankly. He and Mickey had broken up three years ago. Breaking Mickey's heart had been step one in Ian's self-destruct countdown to total annihilation. Steps two through seven had involved cutting all ties with his family, and he didn't really want to think about steps eight through twenty-seven.

He chose to shut up and endure the lecture stoically and without comment. There was something bizarre going on, and he knew asking a question like, "is this some parallel universe where I'm not the guy who threw away everything that mattered to him?" would get him thrown in the psych ward.

Finally, the woman, who still hadn't introduced herself, checked the readouts on his machines and left.

A few minutes later a man came in with none-other than Mickey Milkovich, who looked incredible and was wearing a paramedic uniform. Which, yeah. Mickey in a uniform was really, really hot. Mickey rushed over to his bedside and kissed him chastely on the lips. He leaned down to hug Ian, who automatically hugged him back, and he whispered in Ian's ear. "Just go with this, okay?"

"Mickey brought me in for a quick consult to see if you could benefit from my out-patient program for bipolar. I'm Dr. Hampton."

Ian looked at Mickey in some confusion. He'd long-since acknowledged to himself that of course his family and Mickey had been right and he had bipolar. He even took the medication sometimes. He didn't know what the hell was happening right now. "Can I talk to you for a minute, Mickey?"

"I know you hate when I talk to you about your meds and stuff, Ian, but after this latest stunt you can't tell me your meds are working the way they should be for you. Dr. Hampton is a world expert in treating bipolar and he's here as a favor on his break so he doesn't have much time. I promise you I'll explain everything if you'll just answer the doc's questions honestly right now. Even if he agrees to take you on as a patient, you don't have to sign on if you learn about the program and you don't want to do it."

"Okay. I guess," Ian said.

The doctor took a clipboard out from under his arm and proceeded with his questions, jotting down answers as he went.

"So, you were diagnosed a little over three years ago? Had you shown signs before then?"

"I was probably symptomatic for a couple of years before that," Ian said. "Not that I would have admitted it at the time."

"And your family history…"

"My mother is bipolar," Ian said.

"And in the three years since you've been diagnosed, how often have you been properly medicated?"

Ian paused, and Mickey's hand curled around his. He looked at Mickey, inexplicably there, and decided to tell the truth. "I've taken the meds I got from the free clinic in the proper dosage for a couple of months here and there. It was like being a zombie. I couldn't hold down a job while I was on them; I couldn't even read to pass the time. Eventually I started just keeping a supply of the pills on me and taking a couple when I felt a high or a low coming."

"So you did take the prescribed dosage for more than a month at least once?" the doctor asked.

"More than once. I couldn't stand it," Ian said.

"Okay. I'll let you know, Mick."

The doctor walked out, and Ian turned to Mickey. "What the hell, Mickey? Fiancé? Did we get back together and I just forgot about it or something? I know drugs can scramble your brain, but—"

"We didn't get back together. Two nights ago we got a call to pick up a kid outside a nightclub in Boystown. He, your date, or whoever, left you there, in the snow, half-dead. You had a card on your chest for an escort service that someone had written 'contact info' on, but when we called the number, some guy named Branford said he'd never heard of you. I called Fiona and she said she had enough problems without dealing with someone who wouldn't accept any help and hung up on me. By this time you'd come around in the ambulance, but it was obvious you needed more treatment. You hadn't just OD'd, you were sick. You had some signs of malnutrition and what looked like a lung infection. We would have had to take you to the worst hospital in the city for treatment."

"Would have?"

"I work at this hospital part time. I radioed in, asked if I could get my partner on my benefits before the bill came for an ambulance ride and a stay. They said we'd work something out."

"So this is some kind of insurance fraud?"

"I make fifteen dollars an hour working part-time at two jobs. The only thing this job has going for it is the benefits, and I couldn't just let them take you to some awful place where they wouldn't help you when I could just pull a few strings and maybe do some good. I knew it would probably piss you off, but honestly, I didn't even think about it. I just did it."

"What happens when you don't get married?"

"They think you run around Boystown taking drugs and picking up other guys while being engaged to me. I don't think it's going to rock any of their worlds if the wedding doesn't happen," Mickey said.

"Aren't you still married to Svetlana?"

Mickey looked at Ian curiously. "You really haven't been back to the old neighborhood, have you? Svetlana's dead. One of her pimps got her started on heroin so she could still work after a John kicked the shit out of her. She OD'd a couple of months later."

"Where's Yev?"

"He's with me. Svetlana gave him to me when she noticed suddenly I was the guy with the good job and she was a junkie hooker. He's at daycare right now," Mickey said.

"I'm sorry. I mean, I know you didn't always get along with her, but—"

"—yeah," Mickey said heavily. "So I'm sorry if I've overstepped. But I didn't do much to help her, you know? And I don't want to let the same thing happen to you. Not that you're a smack-head, but…can you let Dr. Hampton try to help you?"

"What was all that about, anyway?"

"Like I said, he's an expert on bipolar. He says that most GPs at free clinics sometimes just throw the maximum dosage at bipolar patients and never try to tweak the dosage so it works, and if the patient doesn't have access to a psychiatrist they just go off their meds because they make them feel like shit. He's writing some kind of paper on how to get the dosage right."

"Aren't you a paramedic? How do you even know him?"

"He bums smokes from me all the time. I asked him what he does when we were out smoking, and when he told me, I told him a little bit about you. I said you were a friend, you know, not that you were my ex-boyfriend from three years ago, so that won't give us away. Ian, I know you don't want any help and you're the most stubborn person I know, but this really is the chance of a lifetime. You could be pretty-much symptom free if they get the dosage right. Get a legit job, and all that shit. Unless you're really happy with your…life choices."

"How did _you_ get a legit job?"

"I had a lot of time on my hands after you broke up with me. I went to the employment office and they told me how to get my GED. Then I found out how to become a paramedic. I thought it was something that would be exciting enough for me, you know? Lots of adrenaline pumping and excitement, and there's hardly any school. I didn't even need my GED, really, although when I was studying for it I learned stuff I needed for the certification tests."

"You have a boyfriend?"

Mickey rolled his eyes. "Yes, I have a boyfriend who's perfectly fine with me pretending I'm marrying my gorgeous ex and moving him into my house so he can get out-patient care from my doctor friend."

"I have to live with you?"

"Is that a problem?"

Ian pictured the flophouse where he and a couple of his friends crashed. He wouldn't miss the place, or even any of his friends, if he never saw either ever again. "It would be really cool to live with you, as long as you don't mind me being around your son."

"Why the hell would I mind that?" Mickey asked. "You're better with kids than I am. Only…a couple of rules. You can't be working for that Branford guy if you're staying with me. And no drugs but what the doc gives you. And, no guests. At all."

Ian swallowed. He really didn't like that doctor. Hampton, was it? The guy had seemed like a creep, and he'd barely treated Ian like a human. And Ian didn't believe that his medication was so much better than everyone else's just because he worked at one of the best hospitals in Chicago. On the other hand, getting away from his old life and all his old friends was sounding better and better. Working as an escort had been kind of fun when he'd been eighteen and had done it mostly for kicks and free drugs, but it was kind of humiliating the longer he did it, and it would only get worse. He'd already been turned down because he was 'too old' a couple of times, and he was barely in his early twenties. He couldn't do it forever, and he wouldn't accept one of the offers of his rich old clients to be a 'house boy'. He might be a lot of things, but meek wasn't one of them.

And it might be really selfish, but if he pretended that he believed he could get better with the proper medication, he could live with Mickey again, even if it was just for a little while.

Ian had spent so much of his life in the land of denial that he might as well get an apartment there, but one thing he'd never managed to lie to himself successfully about was the fact that he'd never been happier than when he had lived with Mickey. He'd tried to tell himself it was just because Mickey was his first love, and you never find the love of your life at eighteen, but even he didn't believe that.

This Mickey seemed like a stranger. He hardly even _swore_. But he looked the same, and he looked at Ian like he cared what happened to him, even if he didn't look at him like he loved him anymore. If Ian tried hard enough he could imagine Mickey really was his fiancé and all his bad choices in the last three years were the mistakes someone else had made.

He looked at Mickey and remembered all the times Mickey had fucked up and hurt him. He'd more than made up for those times by coming out and trying to take care of Ian when he'd first come back from the army and let the man back into his life. Maybe Ian could make up for all the ways he'd fucked up and Mickey would be able to forgive him in return.


	2. Chapter 2

Mickey ran a hand down his face, stressed out already. He'd really fucked up. He should have taken Ian to whatever shitty hospital would have him. But it was so much like that time Mickey had picked him up out of the snow and taken him home…and he was really sick.

It hadn't helped that that Branford person had acted like a complete asshole. Mickey was an unrepentant asshole himself, and even he wouldn't have treated one of his rub and tug girls the way that guy had Ian. He'd kind of wanted to help Ian just to piss the guy off.

Ian looked way too thin. He wouldn't be able to do an army-style obstacle course nowadays, though he had a gym-fit body, probably because his clients liked his muscles. It made Mickey's skin crawl to think of Ian as an escort. It wasn't like he had anything against people selling their asses, but Ian was so wrong for that profession. Whores had to be tough, and even if they were tough they sometimes got chewed up by the business like Svetlana had. Ian had always gone to those rich guys for like, love and affection, even if he hadn't realized it. Being a whore would tear Ian's heart out in the end, if he didn't get some kind of a disease that would kill him first.

But it wasn't Mickey's job to worry about Ian anymore, and it hadn't been for a long time. In fact, last he'd checked, Mickey was still pissed off at Ian and didn't want anything to do with the walking train-wreck, especially since Mickey had gotten his life together and was now a single-father.

And yet, he'd just spent the last half-hour lying to HR about his upcoming wedding and getting Ian on his benefit plan, and now he had to contact his partner and figure out how to get her to stay quiet about what had happened.

She, of course, knew he wasn't engaged, and she knew he'd had to call an escort service to see if the man in charge would pay Ian's medical bills. She'd watched with wide-eyes as he'd lied his way through the radio call, and she hadn't said a word to him on the way back to the hospital.

Renee had probably been too pissed off to comment. She wasn't personally liable for anything he'd done, but she knew what he was doing and hadn't said anything, which was probably grounds for dismissal. The pretty, petite, and deceptively strong Latino girl had had as rough an upbringing as Mickey had. They'd bonded over getting out of the Southside and both being so small other drivers didn't want to work with them because they thought they'd be weak, but if he cost her her job, he knew she'd never forgive him despite their friendship.

He sent her a quick text. _I owe you one. Several. This'll work out, I promise._

Her reply, _yeah, how could this possibly go wrong for you_ , was actually kind of reassuring, because it showed that at least she sort of had a sense of humor about what he'd done.

He couldn't explain by text that, even now, Ian was the only person outside of his family who had ever really loved him. Without Ian, Mickey would have never even thought of getting his GED or getting out of the Southside. He'd never have thought any part of him was worth saving. Even though ultimately Ian had broken his heart, first of all he'd fallen for Mickey, hard. And the fact that someone like Ian could love him, even for a little while, had given Mickey the confidence to at least try.

To his surprise, he'd found out he was almost as smart as he'd always pretended he was. He wasn't a genius like Lip, but he'd managed to get the GED after a few tries and had soared through the short vocational course and on-the-job training required to be a paramedic. His brothers had looked at him with the same amused confusion they'd shown him when they'd realized he was gay, like they couldn't believe this weird alien being had somehow ended up in their family, and had remarked that if they ever got shot they'd know who to call.

He'd gotten a job as a paramedic almost right away despite his tough accent and borderline offensive tattoos, and he'd settled into his life. He'd gotten a nice apartment, he'd taken over caring for Yev, which hadn't annoyed him nearly as much as he'd let on, and he'd wondered why his life still felt so empty.

He tried to remind himself that Ian wasn't the same kid he'd fallen in love with, and if he was waiting for him to fill in the empty spaces in his life, he'd be waiting for a long time. Ian had agreed to take his help, for some reason (where was _this_ Ian three years ago?), but that didn't mean Ian still loved him. Or even still liked him. And even if he did, they'd both been through so much in the past three years that they probably weren't even remotely the same people.

Ian had started to hate him for going soft even before they'd broken up. What would he think of him now? He had more Thomas the Tank Engine DVDs than porn DVDs, and he hadn't owned a gun in years. He was hardly that thug Ian had been hot for.

And Ian looked like he'd had a long, hard three years. That would have to change a person, wouldn't it?

Anyway, it wasn't even a question. Ian didn't want him, and he'd had enough of Ian breaking his heart.

It was amazing, though, to think about how they'd been when they were together. Epic. They'd been something else. All the guys Mickey had dated or fucked since Ian had seemed pale by comparison, and not because of Ian's model looks or the fire-crotch or the crazy behavior. When you had had a love like theirs, it was hard to settle for something less.

Which was irrelevant. He was just going to help Ian get on his feet and then wash his hands of this entire situation, hopefully while remaining employed by the hospital and not be prosecuted for fraud, if at all possible.

He went back to Ian's room and found Shelley changing his IV bag.

"So, can I take this dumb fuck home with me today?" he asked her.

She nodded her head, used to his bluntness. "I don't know why you'd want to, but we'll be ready to release him by this afternoon. Dr. Hampton accepted him as a patient. He left an appointment card and some literature about the program and I'm going to have some antibiotics and things to give you."

She walked out of the room and Ian shook his head. "She hates me."

"Don't worry about it. She's just a little protective of me."

"No shit," Ian said. He smiled and looked down at his hands. "It's nice, though. That you have so many friends. You deserve it."

Mickey shrugged, not sure what to say. "You need to pick anything up from your place?"

"I'd rather not right now. I have some money. I can pick some clothes up from the Salvation Army when I get better," Ian said.

"Whatever. I'm not working for a few days. I'll pick you up a toothbrush and some razors while we wait for the IV to drip through. You need anything else?"

For a minute he was sure Ian was going to say 'condoms and lube', he could just tell by the look on the kid's face, but at the last minute he shook his head, his look almost shy. "If it's okay for me to use your soap and shampoo, I'm good."

"We've had our tongues in each other's asses, Ian. I think we can share some fucking soap," Mickey said.

Ian looked relieved. "Thank you for saying something vulgar, Mick. I was starting to think you'd been body-snatched or something."

"I'll be back, yeah?" he said. Ian nodded, and Mickey retreated, afraid of the warm feeling that spread through his chest when Ian looked at him. No fucking way was he going there again.

At the drugstore Mickey got a bunch of things Ian hadn't asked for. So he remembered what kind of hair gel Ian used to use. So fucking sue him. He was walking towards the cash register when he abruptly turned back and got the condoms and lube.

Not for him and Ian.

Just for him and…someone. Some time. He was already here, and his condoms were probably expired.

Mickey threw the bag in back seat of the car, got in, and smacked the steering wheel. "Shit, fucking fuck. I hate my life," he muttered.

He got out his phone and called Fiona. "What happened with Ian?" she asked.

"Now you want to know, huh?"

"Come on, Mickey. My brother may be a perpetual fuck-up but I love him," she said.

"Maybe it doesn't have to be that way. You know I'm a paramedic now—"

"—You what?"

"I'm a paramedic. And I have some contacts at the hospital. I got Ian into a program that could be really good for him. I don't know. When I tried to help him before I didn't know shit about anything."

"You're a fucking paramedic?"

"Stay with me, here, Fiona. We're talking about Ian."

"I can't get my hopes up right now, Mick. I mean, I'd love to see him. We all would. But it hurts so much when he just makes the same mistakes over and over. He says it's his life and he doesn't want to be controlled, but this has been my whole life. It was mom first, now Ian. Just watching this person you love so much spiral out of control and hurt themselves and make everyone's life around them into chaos, too. It's awful. Well, you know what it's like."

"You ever wonder about yourself?" Mickey asked.

She was silent for so long that he wondered if she'd dropped the phone, but finally her heard a sigh. "Sometimes," she said. "If I land in prison again you tell them I'm not guilty by reason of insanity, alright? I've never admitted that to anyone. Jesus, Mickey. How are you the one guy other than Lip in the neighborhood to make something of yourself? A paramedic? I bet you look adorable in your uniform."

"Fuck you," Mickey said.

Fiona laughed softly. "What did you do?"

Mickey explained how he was kind of defrauding the hospital, and she told him she'd help in whatever way she could, and that he shouldn't get romantically involved with Ian right now. That he'd be crazy to. That was why he'd called, to hear her say the words, and he felt strengthened by them. He took the condoms and lube out of the bag and hid them in his glove compartment.

He went to get Ian. Shelley was helping Ian get dressed. That must have been awkward, considering the way they were looking at each other. "You ready to start working out again, lazy-ass?" he asked.

"Why?" Ian asked.

"You're moving in with me. There's a gym in my building. Not a great gym, but you know, it's good enough," Mickey said.

"All I need is pavement and a pull-up bar," Ian said.

"Such a tough guy," Mickey said, his voice half-admiring, as it always was. He was mindful of Shelley packing up the IV equipment, and he came close, putting a hand on Ian's shoulder. "You happy to be moving in?"

"I couldn't be happier," Ian said. "One of these days you're going to be proud of me, Mick."

"You kidding? You agreed to see Dr. Hampton. I've never been more proud of you than right now. We've known each other our whole lives, Ian. This, what you're doing right now, this could be the best thing you've ever done. If you let it be," he said.

"It wouldn't take much for it to be the best. I've never done much to be proud of," Ian muttered.

He would have gone on, but Mickey silenced him with a kiss. And yeah, he was maybe using Shelley's presence as an excuse to kiss Ian (it wasn't completely necessary to kiss him to maintain the charade), but whatever. He brushed back Ian's hair, hoping this mood of Ian's lasted long enough for Dr. Hampton to be able to help.

"Come with me, Mickey. I'll get you the scripts and the release papers," Shelley said.

Mickey followed her out of the room.


	3. Chapter 3

Ian looked around Mickey's place. Compared to a lot of his clients' places, it was a shoebox. Compared to Ian's place, it was a palace. And it was so clean. The building was brand new, and designed for one person but it wasn't quite a bachelor. The kitchen was more like a kitchenette, the dining room just an alcove with a modern-looking table, and the TV area just a corner off the dining room table with a great-looking sofa. There was a nice-sized bathroom with a bathtub, and then Mickey and Yev's small bedrooms. Yev's room had probably been built as an office, and contained a cute toddler bed and lots of toys, and Mickey's was dominated by a bed, dresser, and a framed poster of commercial art from the twenties.

The whole thing was nicer and more stylish than Ian would have given Mickey credit for, and he turned to the man in question, who looked uncomfortable having Ian in his house. "Did someone decorate this for you?"

"You think I can't pick out a couple of pieces of furniture on my own?"

"I didn't mean—"

"—I'm kidding. You might be a delicate flower, Ian, but I ain't. I'm not about to get my panties in a bunch about my decorating choices. I picked it all out. It was weird. I don't think I've ever had brand new furniture that wasn't stolen off a truck in my house," Mickey said.

"This stuff was brand new? It looks really really good. You've got a sexy bachelor pad."

"Yeah, but I don't usually bring anyone back here. You know, with the kid."

"Speaking of him, where is he?"

"Friend of mine from the hospital picked him up. She lives here in the building and she has a kid about the same age. The kids play together really well so I look after Izzy sometimes so she can go out and she looks after Yevgeny so I can go out. She picked him up when she picked up Izzy."

Ian took a moment to marvel at the thought of Mickey babysitting neighborhood children. "You can go get him if you want. I'd like to meet him again," Ian said.

"Alright. You okay here?"

"I think so," Ian said. "I guess I get the couch, right?"

"You got it. I hope you fit—it's not a pullout. Maybe you can put the seat-cushions on the floor if you're too tall. And the bag on the counter has some stuff I got for you from the drugstore, if you want to take a shower. Maybe a bath, you know, if you're still feeling weak. I'll make you some soup when I get back," Mickey said. "And I might be a little long. I forgot to get the antibiotics, so I got to run over to the pharmacy. It's not even a block away, though, and it should still be open."

Before he left, Ian stopped him, saying, "Thanks for doing this. I can't believe you're being so nice. I'll pay you back, somehow. I can babysit Yev, if you want."

"I'm not sure if that's such a good idea, Ian," Mickey said.

"I would never hurt your kid, Mickey! I love that kid," Ian said, raising his voice.

"That's not what I fucking meant, Ian," Mickey said. He sighed and touched a weary hand to his forehead. "You think he didn't ask for you, before, the last time you disappeared from his life? I don't want him to fall in love with you again. You're so good with kids. If he spends a lot of time with you…I just don't want him to get used to you, you know? To think you being here is permanent."

"That makes sense," Ian said. He didn't argue that it was Svetlana who made Ian disappear from Yev's life, but he thought making the distinction wasn't important at the moment. Even though he agreed with Mickey that Yevgeny shouldn't get used to him, nevertheless, he found himself tearing up in the bathtub. Part of him had been thinking this _could_ be permanent. Maybe somehow he could become important to Mickey. Maybe be friends again. Yeah, they'd always slept together, but they'd been best friends, too. He knew better—he really did. But it was hard to accept that he could have had this beautiful life with Mickey and Yev, if only he hadn't broken up with him.

"You're kidding yourself. If you hadn't broken up with Mickey, you think he'd have any of this, anything at all? The only reason he did so well is because you let him go," Ian murmured to himself.

He cleaned himself up, then let the water out of the tub and dried off. He could hear voices outside the bathroom, but he didn't have any clothes to put on. He wrapped a towel around his waist and looked around for some cleaner to wash the tub out with. He didn't want to outstay his welcome by leaving a mess. He hoped Mickey's friend wasn't outside when he walked out.

Mickey and Yev were sitting at the dining room table.

The boy was beautiful. He actually looked a lot like Mickey had at that age (yes, although Mickey claimed not to remember him, he'd noticed Mickey even back then), with pale blue eyes, light brown hair and extremely pale skin. He was small and delicate, and when he looked over and smiled, it was like he was looking at Svetlana's infrequent smile. Ian's heart ached when he saw him. He'd always thought of the boy as his own family, pretty much thought of him as a son, and he hated that he hadn't seen the boy in years.

Mickey looked up at him, and Ian wasn't imagining the way his eyes scanned up and down Ian's body. Well, they'd always been attracted to one another. It was hardly a surprise Mickey liked what he saw and didn't mean he had any intention of acting on it. "I didn't have anything else to put on," he said.

"I might have something you can wear," Mickey said.

He went into his room and Ian looked at Yev. "Hi. My name's Ian. I used to take care of you when you were a little baby, you know?"

"Really?" the boy asked solemnly. "My aunt and uncles did, too. Are you my uncle?"

"No," Ian said. "Your dad and I were really good friends back then."

"You must still be good friends if you're staying here now," Yev said.

"Yeah. I'm pretty lucky your dad is such a good guy," Ian said.

Mickey emerged from the room. "Found you some things. Actually I think they might be yours. Left them on the bed for you. I'll get you some soup."

"Thanks," Ian said. It really was one of his old t-shirts and a pair of canvas pants he remembered from years ago. There was also an old sweater, some basketball shorts, and some sweat pants, all his. Had Mickey held on to these things on purpose? Had he not wanted to call him up to give him his clothes back because he didn't want to see him, but didn't hate him enough to throw the stuff out? It didn't look like he'd ever worn them. Ian put the t-shirt and the canvas pants on, trying not to place too much importance on the fact that Mickey had held on to some of his clothes. They fit a little big these days. He'd been a monster back then.

"Thanks," Ian said, walking into the common area.

"Eat," Mickey said.

Ian sat down and ate some soup. It was from a can but it was really good. Ian knew he was spacing out, kind of sinking into his own little world, but he was tasting the soup, and hearing the soft voices of Yev and Mickey talking and joking about their days.

If he had really belonged there, that might have been the happiest moment of his life.

He wanted to cry, but he pushed down the tears. If he'd had practice at anything these past few years, it was at not crying when he really wanted to.

"You tired, Ian? You can sleep in my bed tonight and I'll take the couch if you want to go to sleep right away. Yev's got his shows," Mickey said.

"You sure you wouldn't mind? I mean, we can share if you want."

"Nah, I'm good," Mickey said.

Ian wasn't sure what to say, so he went to bed, after Ian brushed his teeth and Mickey assured him he didn't want any help with the dishes.

Ian had always loved sleeping in Mickey's bed. Back when they'd first gotten together, Mickey had hardly ever changed his sheets, and they'd been pungent with his smell. Ian had always loved the way Mickey smelled—musky, sweaty, maybe a bit like a locker room. It always seemed really honest. Really male. Fuck, Mickey's smell had always turned him on, even before he'd known Mickey was gay or had ever slept with him. When he lay down between his sheets, Ian was a little disappointed that he obviously washed them a heck of a lot more often now than he had as a teenager.

But his scent was still there, just a bit fainter than before. Sweat, musk, and, yes, that was a faint smell of semen. Ian tried not to imagine the man of his dreams jerking off right where he was lying, but he found himself getting hard just smelling Mickey despite his best effort to ignore the sensory input all around him.

Sleeping here had been a bad idea.

Offering to share the bed with Mickey? That had been a much, much worse idea. Luckily Mickey wasn't enough of a fucking idiot to take him up on it.

Not that he'd kick Mickey out of bed if he wanted to fuck. But really, a lot of his problems in the last three years had been caused by his inability to say no to people who wanted to fuck. He really couldn't remember a time he'd ever regretted fucking Mickey, though. Even though Mickey had once kicked Ian in the teeth to try to convince himself he didn't love him, and even though he'd hurt Ian in ways Ian never wanted to be hurt again, Ian had never felt used by Mickey.

He'd always thought Mickey respected him, which is why he'd hated Mickey looking after him and getting him to take his pills. Even though Ian was younger than Mickey, Ian had been the one to teach Mickey it was okay to be gay and to have feelings and that Mickey was brave enough to come out to his family and it had felt weird to suddenly be the one who needed Mickey's help. It had seemed like suddenly Ian was less worthy of Mickey's respect—and let's face it, no one else in Ian's life had ever been dumb enough to respect him.

He slept better than he'd slept in years, and when he woke up, Mickey was grabbing a uniform from the closet and stepping into the pants.

"Hey," Ian said.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you. How do you feel?"

"Better," Ian said.

"You got antibiotics on the counter, alright? The instructions are on the bottle. You gotta eat with antibiotics. Yogurt is good so you don't get a sore stomach. And could you look through the literature for Dr. Hampton's program? I want to tell him if you're in as soon I can."

"If you think it's really good I'll do it," Ian said.

Mickey shook his head, buttoning his shirt. "That's not good enough, Ian. You got to read through it, and take responsibility for if you want to do it or not. I'm not making the decision for you and having you tell me you didn't agree to some shitty part of it halfway through."

"You're right. Wait, I thought you had today off?"

"I did. I got called in. The first appointment with Hampton is in a couple of days, but I'd like to give him an answer today," Mickey said.

"I'll look through it. I promise," Ian said.

"Alright, well, don't sell my TV for crack or anything," Mickey said.

"No, absolutely no. I might actually check out the gym and see if there's a Salvation Army nearby and get some nice clothes."

"Okay, good luck," Mickey said. "The extra key is hanging by the door, and help yourself to whatever. If you do get clothes and you want to wash them, there's a washer and dryer in the kitchen closet."

There was a moment where Ian could tell Mickey almost walked over to kiss him goodbye before he stopped himself and instead gave Ian a weird half-salute, half-wave.

This was so bizarre.


	4. Chapter 4

Mickey went through his shift in a daze. He hadn't wanted to leave Ian alone so soon, but time and a half was something he just couldn't pass up. He was driving with Elroy, a man he felt completely indifferent to but who hated him. That meant if they didn't need to talk to treat patients, they didn't, and Mickey had a lot of time to think.

After his shift, the daycare lady was taking a million years to find Yev's lunch box and pull him away from his friends (thankfully Yev wasn't antisocial like his parents), so Mickey checked his phone.

 _I've checked out the literature. This program is long. Are you sure you want me here long enough to complete it?_ Ian had texted.

Mickey sighed. The program consisted of group therapy and a lot of medication monitoring, and could take up to a year, with follow-up appointments pretty much forever. He didn't want to force Ian to sleep on his couch for a year, but he didn't mind Ian being there to get his meds sorted if that's what Ian wanted. _If you're in, I'm in. If living together gets to be too much we'll work something else out,_ he texted back.

 _Okay, then you can tell the doc I'm in,_ Ian texted.

When Yevgeny was finally ready, Mickey gave him a hug and said, "We just have to go upstairs and talk to one of the doctors before we go, okay?"

Yev smiled brightly. He loved the hospital. It was a little creepy to Mickey. Who loved hospitals? Maybe it was because the daycare was part of the hospital. Oh yeah. The free employee daycare for the hospital he was exploiting. That felt good to think about. Although, the hospital was a multimillion dollar business that could totally pay the lowest rung workers a hell of a lot more, so fuck them anyways.

When he got to the eighth floor, which was the psychiatry floor, he used the phone system to call in to Hampton's secretary to let her know the appointment was confirmed. To his surprise, she buzzed him in and said Dr. Hampton wanted to talk to him.

"I've got my son with me," he said.

There was what sounded like a brief conversation between the secretary and Hampton, and then the secretary said, "Bring him along. I'll look after him while the two of you talk."

After getting Yev settled with the secretary and a coloring book, Mickey went into the well-appointed office.

Hampton was sitting behind a modern, clear-glass desk on what looked like an uncomfortable chair.

"Hey Mickey. Just thought you should know I'm bending the rules here. The program is for people who've shown destructive, aberrant behavior. So you should be kissing my ass right now," Dr. Hampton said.

"Kissing your ass? What do I even have that you'd want?" Mickey asked.

"Your partner's number?" he asked.

Mickey shook his head. "If she wanted you to have her number, she would have given it to you a year ago. I don't know what she's got against sleeping with hot doctors. Oh yeah, she said you'd slept with half the staff."

"Hmm, what else could I ask for?" Hampton said.

Mickey rolled his eyes. "His behavior is completely aberrant. He stole his brother's ID to join the army where he got kicked out for trying to steal a helicopter he didn't know how to fly and destroyed, among other things. Then he went on the run from the MPs. He worked in a strip club where he slept with clients for free drugs. I tried to get him into treatment for doing a bareback porno and thinking that was completely normal and he stole my kid and went on a road trip for days without calling and then left Yev, who was a baby at the time, in a hot car while he was scoring drugs or hooking up or something."

"Were the police involved in these things?"

"Police, military police…I don't know if he ever got picked up for prostitution, but it's entirely possible."

"You sure you want to marry this guy? Sounds like he's been around."

Mickey shook his head. "You straight guys. Being a prostitute is not like, considered to be that horrifying in gay culture. We don't idealize virginity at all. Well, I don't know any gay guys who do, but there's a kink for every nut job out there. Lots of gay guys think monogamy is just for straights. Besides, where I grew up, prostitution was just another job. My wife was a whore. Fuck, I used to be a pimp at one point. For like a year. And Ian is way more than what he's done. I've known him for a lot of years, and I think the hyper sexuality is a big part of why he lets himself get used like that. I mean, I think he also thinks he's worthless and the only possible reason anyone could want him is sex."

"Did you pimp him out?"

"Of course not! I pimped out girls. And shit, Hampton, if you'd said that to me a couple of years ago, I would have beat the shit out of you," Mickey said. "Ian means more to me than anything. We broke up a few years ago, and getting him back and being able to maybe help him get healthy is probably the best thing that ever happened to me."

"You know, his feelings for you might change after the program," Dr. Hampton said. "It's not uncommon for people like him to use their significant other as an emotional crutch. He might leave you if he doesn't need you anymore."

"Leaving me because he's healthy is a shit-sight better than him staying with me and doing all sorts of crazy shit that can get him hurt."

"You really love this guy," Hampton said.

"At the end of the day, he's family. And my family, we might seem like the scum of the earth, but we look out for each other. We'd do anything for each other."

"Well, in that case, I'm happy to help," Hampton said.

Mickey collected Yev and headed home. Ian was there, using Mickey's computer. He got up and went over to greet Yev and Mickey.

"Hey, how was your day?"

"Fine," Mickey said. "You?"

"Good. I got some new-old clothes. They're in the dryer. The washer is open if you want me to do a load of uniforms. I would have started dinner but I wasn't sure what Yev would want, and I wasn't sure when you'd get home. Do you usually go from night shifts to day shifts like that?"

"There's usually a couple of days in between. This was different because I got called in. It's not a big deal. You guys want some pizza?"

"Yes!" Yev said. "I'm going to watch TV while I wait."

"You know, Ian, you don't have to cook and clean while you're living here."

"I want to. At least until I get a job or something," he said.

"I was thinking," Mickey said. "About your clothes."

Ian looked down and the clothes he was wearing. "My clothes?"

"No, I mean, you worked as an escort, right?" Mickey said, too quietly for Yev to hear.

"You know I did," Ian said.

"So, you must have had pretty nice clothes to fit in with parties and shit. Why would you rather have second-hand garbage?"

"I don't want the reminder. I don't want to wear gorgeous clothes and think about all the old-man dick I had to suck to get them. Besides, the only time I can see me needing clothes that nice again is to go to upscale parties to pick up rich guys, which I am not interested in doing."

"There must be other things you want from your place, though. Is there someone you don't want to see at your apartment? You have a boyfriend or something?"

"No. I just have roommates. Friends. But I want to make a clean break, you know?"

"Like you did with me and your family? I bet your friends would want to know you're okay," Mickey said.

"I should call Fiona."

"She knows you're okay. I called her. But I'm sure she'd like to hear from you. You know if you've got designer clothes you can sell them for a lot of dough, right? That could be tuition fees if you decide to go to college."

Ian sighed heavily and then chewed on the side of his finger as he thought for another minute. Finally he said, "Okay, I'll go back and get my stuff, but you have to help me sell most of it. Can you drive me over there tomorrow?"

"Of course. Tomorrow is a Saturday, and Mandy usually spends the day with Yev on Saturdays, so we've got lots of time."

"Is it okay if I use your computer to look at where to go to sell designer clothes?"

"Yeah, but are you sure you want to? If you've got really nice suits, then they're probably timeless enough to wear forever and you'll probably never be able to afford them on your own again. I have a storage locker if you'd rather just not see them for a couple of months," Mickey said.

"No, if I have anything to do with my clothes at all, it's going to be selling them."


	5. Chapter 5

Ian wasn't exactly ashamed of where he'd been living. It was nicer than the Milkovich house had been, so he knew that Mickey wasn't judging him. Mickey wouldn't judge him anyway; he knew that. Mickey was an asshole in a lot of ways, but he had never been judgmental.

It was strange, though, to think that Mickey had managed to make such a good life for his son, seeing how he had been raised, without parental care and affection. Ian had had Fiona. Mickey had had no one. It made Ian a bit ashamed, to think of the sweet little life Mickey had built for himself, when Ian had actually made his life worse since he'd broken up with Mickey.

Ian let himself in the door of the apartment, looking around at the mess his roommates had made. Julian and Henry were wrapped up together on the couch, and the door of one of the two bedrooms, the one that wasn't his, was shut, which usually meant there was someone sleeping inside.

Mickey had picked up boxes somewhere and was carrying a bunch of them. "Guess it's still a little early for your friends, huh?" he asked, his voice quiet.

"Last night was Friday, and they don't have to adjust their schedule around a six year old," Ian said.

"Where's your room?"

"The one with the door open," Ian said.

They went in and shut the door, trying to keep the noise down. Ian looked at his clothes. He wasn't sure why he felt such an aversion to keeping them. Sure, they were a reminder of being a whore, but that wasn't really it. He'd liked the power he'd gotten from being an escort and enjoyed the work at least some of the time, and the stuff he hadn't liked, well, he'd been paid well for that stuff. He wasn't a victim. It was like the clothes were a gift that he hadn't wanted in the first place and he'd only taken them to make people he hadn't really cared about feel good about themselves. He didn't like designer suits and had no place to wear them but on dates with clients, so it was about the most self-serving gift they could have given him. But there were even more suits than he'd realized, ones he'd bought himself while he was manic (his spending sprees were one of the reasons he had no savings despite being able to make quick cash) and Mickey was right. There was probably thousands of dollars in that closet.

The suits were all hanging up, and it would be better to just lay them on the floor of the trunk then to box them up, so he looked around the room for things he might need.

He boxed up his watches, determining they needed to hit a jewellers, too. No one needed watches as nice as these.

"Why didn't I sell these things before? I could have taken like three months off of work," Ian said.

"Maybe you didn't want to piss your clients off if they wanted you to wear a Rolex on your date," Mickey said. "I can't believe you have a Rolex, man."

Ian looked at him. "Some guys, guys who look like me, make a lot of money. They go out on two, three dates at day sometimes. I could have lived in a nicer place if I'd worked harder at it."

"Why didn't you?"

"I didn't want to. I didn't want to have regulars. You know? I just wanted to do as little work as possible to get by on." He didn't say, but Mickey probably knew, that he'd hardly been able to muster the energy to get to work sometimes. And other times he was so unstable he would have scared the shit out of his clients. He couldn't really have regulars when he wasn't always able to be at the beck and call of his client list.

Mickey shrugged. "You want me to take some of your clothes down to the car? I don't really know what to pack and what not to pack so it's hard to help."

"Sure. Just take as many suits as you can carry and lay them flat on the floor of the trunk of the car, okay?"

Mickey nodded and grabbed a thick stack of them. He left the door open when he left.

Ian looked up to see Julian leaning against the doorjamb looking at him sleepily. "What's that dude doing with your clothes? Are you moving out?"

"Yeah. I'm making some changes in my life. I'm not going to work for Branford anymore, I'm seeing a better doctor, moving in with Mickey…he's an old friend," Ian said.

"Mickey? The love of your life, Mickey?"

Ian felt his face get hot and hated that he was blushing. He didn't remember telling Julian that Mickey was the love of his life, but he'd spent enough time with the guy wasted that he shouldn't be surprised. He nodded. "We're just living together as friends. He's helping me with some things."

"He forcing you to stop your escort work?"

"Of course not. No one forces me to do anything. It's not what I want to be doing. I mean, if I was working it like you, like working hard at it and saving for the future, that would be one thing. But I've just been doing it because there's nothing else I'm fit for. I'm a high school drop out with no job training and I don't show up for work half the time."

Mickey walked in the room and nodded at Julian, who introduced himself. Mickey muttered his name and refused to shake hands, as usual. Ian rolled his eyes. "You refuse to shake hands at your job, Mick?"

"I work at a hospital. You can get away with being a germophobe in a hospital," Micked said, grabbing another handful of suits.

"You're not a germophone. Why don't you like shaking hands?"

"This might surprise you, Ian, but proper etiquette lessons were not a priority in the Milkovich house," he said. "Shaking hands just feels fucking weird."

He walked out the door. Julian looked at Ian. "He didn't really hang around to get to know me. Does he not like us? Does he want you to move away from all your friends? Does he think we're a bad influence?"

Ian put some books in the box he was packing and decided nothing more would fit. He tucked the flaps into each other and looked at Julian. "I wasn't even going to come back here. He said you guys deserved to know what happened. I think he just wanted to give us some time for me to explain things. I OD'd again. I'm not happy here. I'm selling my clothes and starting again."

"Without us?" Julian said flatly.

"Without," Ian gestured vaguely, "The party scene. I know what a dipshit I can be when I'm drunk or high. And I'm not supposed to do either on the program I'm starting. It's supposed to get my bipolar in line. If you want to get together for coffee or to go out to dinner, or see a movie or something, I would love to see you. But I'm not up for anything wild—at least for a while."

"Well, I guess I'm happy for you," Julian said. "And I'll take you up on that coffee. Maybe we can meet up to work out together, the four of us."

"That sounds good. I used to be in such good shape. I'm going to get back into it," Ian said.

"Get on that, lazy, you look like a fucking slob," Mickey said, breezing in.

Julian looked horrified but Ian just laughed and tried to trip Mickey as he walked by. Mickey sidestepped easily and Ian threw a pillow at him. "Wasn't I in good shape, though?"

"You're still in good shape. You've got this slim, sleek thing going on that's sexy in its own way. But back then you looked like a fucking god," Mickey said.

Ian grinned at Mick and watched him grab the last of his clothes and walk out. Yep, he was totally working out again. He knew Mickey didn't really care if he was ripped or not. But Mickey telling him how hot he was? He'd known Mickey felt that way, of course, otherwise they wouldn't have fucked every second they were alone together, and Mickey wouldn't have run his hands over Ian's body with reverence than bordered on worship, but damn. Hearing the words out of Mickey's mouth, in front of a stranger, when for so long Mickey hadn't even acknowledged that he was gay? That was some heady shit.

"How much do you love this guy?"

Ian waited until he was sure Mickey had left the apartment, and sighed. "As much as I ever did. I broke up with him because I was such a disaster, but him and me? We're perfect for each other. And he's got this great apartment, and he's got sole custody of his kid who I used to adore when he was a baby…it's like, he's got everything I ever wanted but was too fucked up to get."

"But he's not offering it to you," Julian said. "The two of you are just living together as friends, right?"

Ian shrugged. "For now. Everyone keeps telling me this program could help me be normal. I mean, I'd have to take medication, and I might have to monitor the dosage for the rest of my life and change it up now and then, but it would work the way it's supposed to. If I'm normal, and I can get a job and take care of a kid without being a threat to it, maybe I can convince him to take me back."

"Is that what you want?"

"Yeah, it really is. I don't know if I'm ready for it, or if he will want that, but it's definitely what I want," Ian said.

Julian came and gave Ian a hug. "You should tell him. I'm glad you know what you want, and that he's getting you some help. I always worried about you, you know? Sometimes you get really, you know, out there. It was scary and I never knew how to help. None of us did."

Ian hadn't realized Julian had ever cared. He'd tried to distance himself from people who cared about him. He hadn't wanted to worry anyone, but he was coming to learn that a life without human connections might actually be impossible. Unrealistic. Trying to live his life without making close friends—without hurting anyone the way his mother had hurt him because of the disease they both had—was really immature, he was starting to realize.

And this was not the first group of friends Ian had just left behind without a word. Or the second. He packed up all the things he wanted and let his friends know they could have whatever was left and sell anything they didn't want.

"Did you tell Mandy I was here? Does she want to hang out tonight?" Ian asked once they were back in the car.

Mickey grimaced, and didn't answer right away. Finally, he said, "Mandy isn't exactly going to be happy about you living with us. She's not your biggest fan these days."

"Fuck," Ian said. "Your sister wouldn't…like… _hurt_ me, would she?"

"I'll make sure she doesn't. I respected what she wanted when she was with Kenyatta and he was a lot fucking worse than you. She's got to respect that I want to hang with you again."

"Even though I broke your heart," Ian said. "That's what she's pissed about, right?"

"That, and you cutting all ties with her."

"It's been a long time since I've lived in fear of Mandy coming after me," Ian said. He paused to consider the implications of Mandy hating him. "Are you still pissed at me?"

"I understood why you did what you did, Ian. I just thought it was stupid. You didn't give me enough credit. We could have figured it out together. You didn't give us a chance to be there for each other when things got tough. I would have done anything for you."

"I didn't want to drag you down. Look what you did when I let you go. You got your GED, got a steady job, moved out of the ghetto and became this amazing father."

Ian wasn't sure why Mickey was laughing. They stopped at red light and Mickey turned to Ian. "It's funny to me that you think that I could have done any of that without the thought in the back of my mind that someone had loved me once. Probably still loved me a little. Might love me again if I made something of myself," Mickey said.

Ian's mouth went dry. "You did all that for me?"

Mickey shrugged. "Stupid, right? Like life really works that way. Like me making something of myself would really change things. I kind of needed something to focus my energy on, though, so I didn't just fucking kidnap you and make you take care of yourself or something."

Ian hadn't thought it was possible to love Mickey any more than he already did. He was already too far gone. Mickey kept on talking though, and everything he said made Ian love him more.

It was like being a teenager all over again.


	6. Chapter 6

Despite the fact that Mickey had probably made his feelings about Ian a little too clear, he couldn't bring himself to wish he'd kept quiet. He was a direct, forthright person. He'd hated being gay mostly because it meant he had to hide and sneak around and that shit was such a bother, so mooning around and pretending he only felt friendly with a guy he'd wished he was with most nights since they'd broken up hadn't really been his thing.

Ian kept on giving him those goddamned adoring glances, though, like he always had when they were kids.

It made him hard and confused and pissed the fuck off. Just because Mickey loved Ian (how could Ian have thought he didn't?) didn't mean he wanted him, and it didn't mean this shit between them was going anywhere.

It took them so long to get everything sold and the cash deposited in the bank that Mandy had dropped Yev off at Izzy's place. Mickey had no idea how much money Ian had made; he figured it wasn't any of his business. When they got home and Mickey went to pick up Yev, it turned out Izzy really wanted Yev to sleep over, and Izzy's mom didn't mind, so Mickey went back to the apartment alone.

"Where's Yev?" Ian asked.

"Sleepover," Mickey said.

"Oh. Well, I guess you could go out. You know, with friends or whoever," Ian said. "I bet it's not that often you have a Saturday night free. You should take advantage. Don't worry about me."

Mickey thought about it. He could call his friends from work, or hook up with someone on Grindr or something. It was what he would usually do in this situation. But he didn't want Ian to sit at home, thinking about him maybe hooking up with someone else. First of all, that was cruel, and second of all, he didn't want to sabotage Ian's mental health.

"My work partner Renee can never go out. She lives with her granny and the old girl can't be left alone. I sometimes go hang out with her; have some beers, sometimes play some cards. You want to come?"

Ian looked surprised and pleased. "Yeah, that would be fun. Wait, this the girl from the ambulance, right? Not the nurse who hates me."

"Yeah, you've never met Renee," Mickey said. "Not conscious, anyway."

"But if you hang out with her, she must know—"

"—She knows," Mickey said. "We won't have to pretend around her."

Ian nodded but maybe looked a little disappointed. Mickey texted Renee and she told him to get take out from a place she liked that didn't deliver that was on the way.

By the time they got to her house she'd sent them on a couple of other errands, and they had beer, milk and Thai food for her.

Renee greeted Mickey at the door with a hug and then took the milk from him and walked in the house ahead of them. Plates were already out, so they all sat down and dug into the Thai food. They made small talk while they ate, and then Mickey went outside to have a smoke.

The kitchen window was open, and Mickey was sure they weren't aware that he could hear every word they were saying.

"So you're Ian," Renee said. "Mickey never told me about you, but I saw the way he looked at you when he realized that you were in rough shape. He really cares about you."

"I know," Ian said.

"So how do you like this mess that Mickey's got you in?"

"It feels like a second chance I don't deserve. I never should have broken up with him. I love him and Yev so much, but I know they both deserve better than me."

"Have you asked him what he wants?"

"I will. But I don't think he'll take me seriously until I'm in the treatment program. I mean, I'm not even on any meds right now. I'll bring it up when I've got my life in order. I need to prove to both of us that I can get my shit together. Maybe I'll tell him when I've got something to offer him in return," Ian said.

"That's probably a good plan," Renee said. "From what I understand you've got a lot on your plate right now. Maybe it's better to hold off on romance until you've got some of it sorted out."

Mickey didn't know how to feel about that. He didn't want to lead Ian on, or let him think that if he got on medication that Mickey would automatically want him back. But he also wanted to walk in that room and kiss the piss out of the boy. It was the first time Ian had ever said he loved him that he knew about—although annoyingly, he wasn't supposed to have heard it.

He finished up his cigarette and came back in, trying to forget what he'd heard.

They had a good dinner and played some cards, and then they went home.

Mickey had been worried about the sexual tension between them making them do something stupid, but even though they both still had feelings for each other, in the next couple of weeks, it was _actual_ tension that started to develop. They were short-handed at work, and Mickey wasn't home a lot, but when he was, it seemed like he and Ian were always sniping at each other. Partially it was sharing parenting duties with someone for the first time since Svetlana had been alive, partially it was Ian's restlessness over not having a job and adjusting to his new medication regiment, and more than anything it was probably the cramped quarters of Mickey's small apartment that caused the tension to finally explode.

Ian had been sleeping on the sofa, and he'd had to adjust his schedule around Mickey and Yev's use of the living room. Since Ian's meds hadn't normalized his moods yet, he sometimes felt low and wanted to sleep for most of the day. This didn't exactly work in such a small place, or with a small child around, so Mickey had given up his bed quite a few times, and was grumpy as a result.

Yev was staying with Mandy that weekend. Maybe it was the lack of a buffer between them, or the fact that they didn't have to edit what they said to each other, but after dinner Mickey made a stupid joke about Ian getting off his ass and doing the dishes that led to a yelling match.

Mickey was surprised, actually, that their fight didn't get physical. Maybe it would have been better if they'd fought, because fist fights had sometimes been the things they needed to clear the air between them in the past, but instead they said a lot of things they didn't mean, mostly about stupid things like doing laundry and making the bed, and Mickey left the apartment, angry and frustrated with the situation.

He walked until he calmed down a little, and then to a local bar and had a drink. It was nice to get out; he'd been sticking pretty close to home since Ian moved in. He struck up a conversation with the old guy at the bar, and finally, after an hour or so, paid his tab and went back to the apartment to face the music.

When Mickey opened the door, he was hit with a sense of well-being. Even if things were rough right now between him and Ian, Ian was here, so things could only look up. His medication would kick in, he'd get a job, maybe move into his own place somewhere nearby, or if things really looked up, maybe one day they'd get back together and get a bigger place.

Only the sense of well-being must have been nothing more than a buzz from the beer, because with a growing sense of panic, Mickey realised that Ian _wasn't_ there.

And none of his stuff was there. Like none of it. And he'd left Mickey's spare key in the center of the kitchen table.

"No, no, no, no, no," Mickey muttered to himself. "Not again. You don't get to fucking do this to me again, Ian. Not now."

Mickey started by calling Ian's phone; he didn't answer or have a message service, so Mickey texted him a dozen apologies and begged him to come back. He started calling around, trying Ian's old roommates, Mandy, the Gallaghers, Dr. Hampton, and even Renee. Finally, he looked around in the old business cards on his dresser and found the one from Ian's old pimp.

"Yeah?" the guy said.

"This Branford?" Mickey asked.

"Who wants to know?" he asked.

"I'm looking for Ian Gallagher. Have you seen him?" he asked. He wanted to mention Ian's mental health problems, but he was sure this sleaze already knew, and if he didn't, he didn't want to give the guy any more ways to manipulate Ian.

"You had your chance. He's mine again. They always come back. My boys love the easy money, and I take care of them. He needs someone to take care of him."

Mickey held the phone up to his ear for a long time after the call disconnected, stunned by his shock and disbelief. How had he let things get so bad? Why had Ian thought that Mickey leaving the apartment meant he wasn't welcome there anymore? They'd said things they didn't mean, but neither of them had said anything close to cutting ties.

Stupidly, Mickey had thought they were beginning to be friends again. Maybe things had been tougher for Ian than he'd thought. Or maybe Ian taking off was inevitable, and Mickey was just lucky it hadn't happened two months into their cohabitation rather than two weeks. Ian had only been there a short time, so maybe this time it wouldn't take years for him to get over. And at least Yev hadn't started to depend on Ian again, so that was something. If Ian was gone again for good, at least he hadn't left after they'd become a family again.

Mickey hoped that wasn't what had happened, but Ian did tend to run when things got tough.

"Well, not this fucking time," Mickey muttered.

He called Mandy back and told her to take care of Yev until he came to get him, and then he went over to Ian's old apartment. There was no one there, so he went back out and climbed up the fire escape. He broke in without damaging any windows, and turned on the TV, waiting for one of the guys to return.

Two of them came back a little after one in the morning. Julian had his arm around an Asian man around his age with purple hair.

They were laughing and joking around until Julian saw Mickey and froze.

"Holy shit. How did you get in here?" Julian asked.

"Fire escape. Now you're going to tell me where Branford lives," Mickey said.

"You broke in here like a fucking psycho after Ian broke up with you. You think I'm going to tell you where to find him?" Julian asked. He turned to the other man. "Call the cops Nathan."

"Maybe I should go—" Nathan said.

"It ain't even like that," Mickey said. "Come on, Julian. You know Ian wanted to be with me. And we're not even dating, so it's not like I'm some psycho ex. I'm just helping him out. I would have waited outside but it's fucking raining. We're friends. We had a fight, and Ian overreacted like always. I don't know if he's even where he wants to be. He's on this new medication, you know? I just want to make sure he's good. I need to talk to him. He told you he didn't want to go back to what he was doing before. So let me just go to Branford's place and make sure Ian's not just running because it's all he knows how to do anymore."

"I talked to Ian. He sounded really upset. Like he was broken-hearted. He said that he was just messing up everything up for you and you were better off without him."

"See! That's just Ian overreacting. Yeah, we got into it, but then I went out and had a beer and started fantasizing about how one day we might start going out together and after he went to school maybe he'd get a good job and we could get a bigger apartment so we weren't at each other's throats all the time. I mean that kid's always been so damned dramatic. That fight was nothing. It was about doing the dishes, for chrissake."

"Fine. I'll give you the address. But you didn't hear it from me."

"He's your boss, too, right? Fuck, I'll just tell him I followed Ian or some shit. Don't worry. I got you."

"Okay, but you should be careful. Branford isn't usually violent, but he's pretty pissed at Ian already for leaving in the first place. He might freak out if you come around unannounced and try to get him out of there."

"Don't worry. I can handle myself," Mickey said.


	7. Chapter 7

**Trigger Warnings (sort of spoilery): spiralling negative thoughts, sort of wishing for death, being drugged, sort of low-key held hostage. Story will still pretty much make sense if this chapter is skipped.**

Ian fidgeted. He looked around the room as if there was something in there that would help him make Branford believe he was serious. The front room of the apartment held two leather sofas facing each other, and a heavy cherry coffee table between them littered with drug paraphernalia, and a big screen TV on mute. There was a bathroom just off the front room, and a bedroom in the back. Ian was hoping he wouldn't have to see the bedroom this time. The door guy had been told to wait in the hallway, and so far Ian wasn't sure if that was because Branford wanted to beg him to stay, rough him up, or fuck him.

He felt pretty stupid for coming at all. Branford owed him money, and he'd wanted to get every bit of money he could before he made a fresh start, but he saw now that he should have just called the money a loss. Branford had been nice so far, but having just been living with someone who loved him, it was all too obvious to Ian that Branford didn't give a shit about him beyond what he could be used for.

He missed Mickey already.

 _Mickey's better off without you_ , he reminded himself. All Ian ever did was cause other people pain. Mickey had been this upstanding citizen, and Ian hadn't even had to be conscious to make Mickey turn into a criminal again. He never should have let Mickey lie to his employer about their relationship. He never should have fallen back in love with Yevgeny. Or with Mickey, for that matter. And he never should have sold his—

"Shit," he said.

"What?" Branford asked. He was rolling a joint. Probably thought he was being sexy. Ian didn't want any of the joint, especially since Branford usually laced joints coke. If Ian had coke he'd end up in bed with Branford, and that wasn't why he was there.

"I can't come back and work for you anyway. I sold all my suits. It would be a big investment to get me more clothes, Bran. I probably should just cash in the scholarship and go," Ian said. For some reason he wasn't ready to go back to the Gallagher's house. He knew Mickey had told them that he'd been accepted into this new experimental treatment program, and they'd be so disappointed that he quit. He would go back, once he got himself right. He'd go to the free clinic and get himself sorted out, and then he'd go back home in a few weeks.

"I told you you were always welcome here, whether you were working for me or not. Just relax. Have a drink," Branford said.

Ian pretended to take a sip, for some reason convinced that Branford had drugged his drink. Well, it wouldn't be the first time. Branford considered his 'boys' to be his property, and considered most drugs to be social lubrication. He felt like it was his right to use social lubrication on his property to get whatever effect he wanted. The first thing he'd said to Ian was that he needed to relax. Hell, the first time they'd met he'd roofied Ian. Ian shook his head. "I came here for one reason, Branford. The scholarship fund. You said that every fifth client you took the money and put it away for me. There should be a lot of dough in that account. I mean, a lot. I just want the money."

"It's too early to cash it in, Ian," Branford said. "Come on. You made a commitment to me to work for me until you were twenty-five. You can still start school at twenty-five. Lots of people do."

"It's not like we had a contract, Bran. If you're not going to give me the money, that's fine. Just fucking tell me and I'll get out of here. I've never heard of anyone actually getting the money in the end, so it's not like it's a big surprise. You can be honest."

Branford's expression hardened. "Drink your cocktail, Ian. For god's sake. You want to talk to me about being cheated? You think I cheated you out of that money? I did so much for you, Ian. I introduced you to the most fabulous clients, and you couldn't even be bothered to call them back or treat them right."

Ian looked at his feet. He'd never told Branford that he had a mental illness, but he was pretty sure all the boys had something about them that made them vulnerable; they'd been abused, or lived on the streets, or had a mental illness like Ian. There were a very few men like Julian, who saw the job as an opportunity to go to school and graduate without debt. Most guys who were stable and whole would get a loan or something.

"I'm sorry, Branford. It's hard for me to be…I'm not reliable," he said.

"That's why this time I'm going to keep a much closer eye on you. I have an apartment vacant that you can use. You'll go where I tell you and do what I tell you, and you'll make us both a mint."

"Branford, I'm not interested in that kind of job," Ian said. "I don't want to do this anymore." There was something inside of Ian that realized that if he went from Mickey's lovely apartment to some fuck palace of Branford's, he'd break. Mickey wouldn't ever trust him again so he couldn't even pretend that one day he'd be able to win him back, the way he'd been secretly dreaming about for years. He'd already burned all his bridges with his family. Maybe it was better if he broke. Maybe Branford was all he deserved. Breaking probably wouldn't hurt as much as hoping Mickey would take him back and being wrong. After all, Mickey had never said he wanted Ian. Not the Ian he knew now; the one who fucked guys for money and hadn't talked to his family in years; the Ian who didn't even stay loyal to his friends.

Absently, he took a drink, sinking so low into his funk that he no longer cared if it was drugged.

"That's it, baby, just drink the whiskey and relax," Branford said.

Ian giggled. Either it was drugged or the whiskey was eighty-proof, because his head swam after a small swig. Branford finally finished the perfect roll and he lit the joint. Branford moved closer to Ian on the sofa; so close the pot smoke made his eyes water.

"Take a hit, babe," Branford said.

"Nah," Ian said. "I don't wanna."

He successfully pushed Branford's hand away, Branford laughing and telling him he didn't know what he was missing.

But he did know what he was missing. Mickey. Yevgeny. The bipolar program. His family. Getting a good job. Was he such a tragic case he was going to turn out just like his mother? He didn't want to live from one hit to the next. From one mistake to the next.

"Alright, well, you know my good boys smoke for free," Branford said, nuzzling Ian's neck. Despite himself Ian felt his body respond to Branford. He was handsome, familiar, and Ian hadn't been laid since he'd moved in with Mickey. Even as he felt a slow bloom of arousal, the thought of Mickey tamped it down and made Ian push Branford away.

"I'm not one of your boys anymore. If you don't want to give me the money just say it," Ian said.

"You're my boy, babe. You'll always be my boy. I'm the one who tells you when I don't want you anymore, and I think I'll want you for some time, babe."

"Just fucking tell me! There's no money, is there?" Ian asked.

"You get the money when you're used up you stupid prick. You're still an earner, and if I supervise you closer this time, you'll be an even bigger earner. So just shut the fuck up about leaving. It's not happening."

Ian absorbed this news, wondering what Branford had drugged his drink with. He felt relaxed and sleepy; if he didn't know Branford was trying to control his life, and possibly even confine him against his will, he'd find the feeling pretty pleasant. He could probably put his finger down his throat and negate the effect somewhat—no, if drugs are absorbed in alcohol they go right into your blood stream, right? Ian tried to think through the mind fog. He didn't know. Inducing vomiting worked on household cleaning products, according to their labels. It should work for drugs.

Ian struggled into a standing position and wobbled slightly. "I'll be leaving, Bran. Let me fucking go. You don't want to keep me here against my will. I have people who care about me."

Branford pushed him back on the sofa. "Come on, Ian. Let's fuck, for old time's sake."

"I don't want to," Ian said.

"You're sleeping in my bed tonight. You might be lucky, and I'll be too fucked out from going out to the club tonight to bother with you. But if I'm horny and I lie down in this bed, you're going to suck me or fuck me or take my dick like the champion bottom I know you can be, babe. You're my boy, Ian. Don't you fucking forget it," Branford said.

He let himself be led into the bedroom and laid down. Branford moved around the room getting ready to go out, and Ian heard him mumbling into his phone.

As Ian drifted towards unconsciousness, he thought about how he'd gotten here. He wanted to stop being a burden to Mickey. Mickey wasn't getting anything out of Ian camping out at his apartment and feeding off of him like a parasite. Ian wasn't his boyfriend and Mickey wasn't enough of a creep to take sex in return for taking care of Ian (Ian had even offered). He was too needy to even really be Mickey's friend. He was too useless and fragile to even do the dishes.

For the first time since he'd left Mickey's place, Ian allowed himself to imagine what Mickey would think when he walked in the door to his apartment and saw Ian gone. He would think Ian had just stepped out until he saw the key on the table, and then he'd know. Ian was certain, no matter how embarrassing it would be to tell his coworkers the wedding was off, the emotion Mickey would have chiefly felt was relief. Mickey did great without him and always had. How many times had Mickey been shot or gotten in trouble because of Ian? He'd always been better off without him. The next time Ian saw Mickey, he'd probably have a house and a husband and every good thing he wanted.

But if Ian was really honest with himself, he knew that Mickey wouldn't be entirely relieved. Not yet. That would come with time. Mickey would feel like Ian had betrayed him. He would feel guilty and sad and like the biggest fool in the world for even trying with him. Mickey would be hurt and he knew what Mickey hurt looked like. He remembered the look in his eyes when he'd told Mickey they were over. Sometimes he's not sure how he had the strength to say the words, seeing the pain in his eyes.

But then causing people pain was something that Ian was good at.

That's what Ian wished for Mickey, anyway. The house and the great kid and someone to love him as much as Ian did, but better, because this better man Mickey would find would have something to give. He wouldn't just take all the time like Ian. Shit, like any of the Gallaghers. And maybe Ian would be really lucky and would never have to see Mickey again that way; maybe he would never have to see him look at someone else the way he used to look at Ian.

Hell, the last time Branford had drugged him, he'd nearly died. Maybe he'd be lucky enough not to survive the night.


	8. Chapter 8

**I don't usually update two chapters so close together, but I just couldn't keep poor Ian in such a bad situation. This chapter is more fun. Canon typical violence.**

Mickey could handle himself, but he hadn't tussled with anyone dangerous in a while, so he swung by his brother's place on the way over to the address Julian had given him. It was stupid to have a gun in the house with a curious four-year-old, so Mickey had left his guns with his brother. After Mickey explained what was going on, Iggy not only handed over Mickey's best pistol, he wanted to come, too.

"You sure you're into this?" Mickey asked.

Iggy shrugged. "Hey, I do this kind of shit all the time. I sometimes stick up drug dealers for cash cause they can't call the cops on you. I saw that shit on _The Wire_. You're the one who went legit. I should be asking _you_ if you're sure."

"It's a guy hurting Ian," Mickey said.

Iggy rolled his eyes. "So we're both sure. Let's get on with it."

Mickey hesitated again, thinking of Yev and his job and all the things he had to lose. "What if this guy's connected?"

"The part of town he's in, if he was connected, he'd be Russian mob. Russian mob don't run no gay whores, Mickey. Russians hate queers," Iggy said.

Mickey shot him a glare. "You know I heard that somewhere?"

"Fuck you. I'm just saying he's probably some former rent boy with a website and a few brains to rub together. He's probably going to shit his pants when he sees us," Iggy said.

Mickey gave up on the conversation, knowing from experience that telling Iggy to be on guard wouldn't make him any more on guard. Nevertheless he usually reacted pretty fast, and his tendency to shrug off any potential danger made him up for anything and kind of unflappable. "You really rob a drug dealer? When the fuck was this?"

Iggy rolled his eyes and got in the car, pointing to the passenger seat. Mickey got in and tried not to tense up on the ride. When they got to the apartment building, Iggy pulled up down the block from the entrance and said, "So what you going to do? Pretend to be a customer? Pretend to want to audition for a job? This place has a doorman."

"I guess I'll—we'll I think I'd be more believable as a fellow pimp than a customer or a potential whore. I mean, I'm not exactly a fresh-faced twink, and I don't look like the kind of guy who could drop five hundred bunks a pop on a date," Mickey said.

"Five hundred? Jesus. You have to take the dick for this money, or could you just give it?"

"You thinking of applying?"

"Fuck off. Who exactly are this guy's clients?"

"Rich idiots with wives. They're paying for discretion, a place to hook up, and a guarantee they won't bring AIDS into the family home. I mean, they're also paying for luxury, right? Yeah, you can get a ten-dollar blowy from some street kid if he's hungry enough, but these fuckers think they're treating themselves to some primo tail."

"You've really thought a lot about this, haven't you?"

"The love of my life working as a prostitute for years? No, it doesn't bother me at all," Mickey said dryly.

"Lots of fish in the sea, Mickey. We could probably find ten better guys at any gay bar right now. I know you're nervous, man. We don't have to," Iggy said.

"Fuck that asshole. He's going to at least tell me goodbye this time," Mickey said.

"Oh Ian, I just can't quit you," Iggy said, doing his best _Brokeback Mountain_ impression as Mickey gave him the finger and they got out of the car.

The doorman let them in when Mickey told him vaguely that they had business with Branford and presented his card. They went up to the sixteenth floor and found the apartment Julian had told them to go to, and knocked.

"What's your business?" the doorman asked. Well, Mickey supposed he could have been Branford, but he was dressed in black, huge, and opening carrying a gun, so it was a safe bet he was a doorman or bodyguard.

Mickey repeated his request to see Branford on business, and they were invited in to sit down. The apartment didn't look like anything special. It certainly wasn't the high-luxury place Mickey had been imagining. Julian had said that it was Branford's office, not that it was where clients came to meet dates. There was two sofas facing each other and a cluttered coffee table between them, and the TV on to a game.

"Shit, I'm recording that game," Iggy said. "Anyway you could change the channel before I see the score?"

"I don't change the channel," the man said, retreating back to the door.

Iggy looked around for the remote, failed to find it, and then sighed and looked at the score. "Goddamn it. Looks like a good game."

"What can I do for you gentlemen?" a man asked.

He was probably in his early forties, and good-looking enough that Mickey was certain he'd push all of Ian's buttons. Branford smiled an oily grin and Mickey knew that a guy like this would have fucked Ian more than once. He hoped Ian wasn't fucking the guy again, because that would hurt like shit, but then Mickey supposed he couldn't really say anything if he was, because Mickey had made it pretty clear he wasn't up for having sex, and they both knew Ian couldn't do celibacy on his best day.

The thought that Branford had probably fucked Ian (or been fucked by him) that night were probably what made him go off script. "Where the fuck is Ian?"

"Oh, you must be Mickey," he said.

Mickey inclined his head.

"I guess you thought you could get one of my boys to turn on me. But my boys love me. They're loyal to me," Branford said.

Mickey knew better. Julian was concerned with his livelihood and had no reason to trust Mickey over Branford, but the fact that he had immediately gotten on the phone and confessed the 'bad' thing he'd done? Sounded more like he was afraid of Branford than loyal to him.

"Look, Ian doesn't want to be here. He told me he was done with this life. I won't believe he's here of his own free will unless you let me speak to him," Mickey said.

"Oh yeah? So what are you and this other skinny little guy planning on doing to me? You gonna call the cops?" Branford asked. "Maybe I should call the cops on you. You look like the kind of guys with records. They're going to believe me over you."

"No, we're about to fuck you up. You better go get pretty boy or prepare yourself for years of physical therapy. And we know you're not going to call the cops on us. This place is probably full of drugs, to say nothing of the illegal prostitution ring you're running," Iggy said.

Mickey felt the surge of adrenaline through his body. "Come on, do it the hard way. You know how long it's been since I got to kick the shit out of someone? I want to fuck you up so bad I can fucking taste it," he said.

Branford took an unconscious step back. "Look, Ian's perfectly happy with me. He's in my bed. I fucked him, and he loved it. So just fuck off," he said.

The pain that Mickey felt at Branford's words was more like guilt than feeling betrayed by Ian. He shouldn't have let Ian down. He knew Ian was sensitive, so why hadn't he treated him better? He decided to take it out on Branford. He punched him square in the nose, hoping he broke it and ruined the guys looks. It was only fair that the man's outside matched his shitty inside. The older guy's face was splashed with blood, and Mickey took a step back. Branford didn't seem like much of a fighter. He was holding his nose as if he'd never felt physical pain before, making a keening nose like a farm animal.

Mickey looked over at Iggy. He had the doorman in a choke hold, then he kneed him in the balls and the man went down. He pulled his gun and pointed it at the guy's head. Looked over at Mickey. "Go find your boy. I've got this," he said.

Mickey looked at Branford. The guy looked harmless, but even a toddler can kill someone with a gun, and who knew what he had stuffed in the sofa cushions or wherever? Mickey kicked him in the leg, maybe hard enough to fracture, and the guy went down. Mickey kicked him hard in the stomach for good measure.

He looked at Iggy. "You sure you're okay?"

"You do you, man. I'm good," Iggy said.

Mickey went into the bedroom. Ian was on the bed, just as Branford had said, but he was fully dressed. And after the commotion in the other room, the fact that he was still sleeping made Mickey wonder if he'd been drugged.

He went over to Ian and tried to wake him by gently tapping his face with an open palm. "Ian? Ian, wake the fuck up."

"What the fuck," Ian mumbled.

"Wake up, man. I need to talk to you. I'm not leaving here until you talk to me, Ian. Wake the fuck up," Mickey said.

Ian's eyes opened wide. "Mickey?"

"You're not fucking walking away from me with no explanation again, Ian. Tell me you want to be here in this bed drugged by this smarmy pimp and I'll walk away. But you gotta say it to my face," Mickey said.

"Just came to get some money he owed me. He drugged me. Told me he'd keep me here until I was twenty-five, force me to live in some apartment and fuck who he said. I didn't want to go back to him. I was going to go to Fiona," Ian said.

"He told me he fucked you," Mickey said.

Ian shook his head vehemently. "He didn't. Said he was going to. I didn't want to and he said he'd wait until he came back from the club tonight. I wouldn't do that to you, Mick. I fucking love you so much."

Mickey pulled Ian to him and cradled his head against his chest briefly. "It's okay. You don't gotta lie. You're not even my boyfriend, remember? You can fuck who you want. And if he drugged you it wasn't exactly your choice, anyway."

"I love you, Mick. I don't want anyone else. I don't want Branford and he didn't fuck me tonight," Ian said.

"Okay, okay. So you want to come with me? Where's your bag? You pack up before you left my place?"

Ian shook his head. "I thought I could come back and get my stuff. I was going to Fiona's, Mickey. I didn't think—honestly Branford has drugged me before but he's never said he was going to hold me prisoner."

"It's not your fault, Ian. Come on. Can you walk? I'll take you out of here. If you still want to I'll take you to Fiona's in the morning."

"I want to be with you, baby," Ian said, nuzzingly into Mickey's neck as Mickey hoisted him into a standing position. "Love you so much."

"Jesus, Ian. Maybe now's not the time," Mickey said.

They staggered into the main room where Branford was still whimpering on the floor, and Iggy was still holding the door guy at gunpoint. Iggy looked up. "Hey Ian. Still causing shit everywhere you go, I see."

"Fuck off, Igs. Let's get the fuck out of here. Yo, piece of human garbage on the floor: you come after Gallagher, I'll fuck you up even more. He's out," Mickey said to Branford.

Ian mumbled and pushed his nose into Mickey's neck, which Mickey wasn't sure should be physically possible considering that they were walking and Mickey was pretty short compared to Ian, but he was managing it somehow.

Mickey poured Ian into the back seat of the car and Ian pulled him in with him, practically on top of him. He was still nuzzling and kissing, and Mickey tried to push him away. "We'll fucking talk about your boner for me when you're not drugged, Ian. Fucking get off of me."

Iggy got in and started driving. "Where we going?" He asked.

"My place," Mickey said. "I want to monitor him tonight, you know. Because of the drugs. I'll take him to Fiona's tomorrow."

"Monitor him? Is that what they're calling it now?" Iggy said, laughing.

Ian was nibbling on his ear, and it was very easy for Mickey to imagine that they could go back to his place and have some fun together, but he wasn't about to do that. Bad for him. Bad for Ian. Ian probably had enough trust issues without having semi-consensual sex with one of the few people he trusted anymore. And Mickey didn't want him. Did. Not. Want. Him. _Yeah, right_ , he thought to himself. _Tell that to your dick. Tell that to your heart. Tell it to your damned soul._

"Love you so much, Mick. You're the best guy I ever met. Sex was so good with you. Can't you let me show you how much I love you?" Ian asked, his voice too loud in the confines of the car.

Iggy sniggered in the front of the car, and Mickey resisted the urge to tell Ian to shut the fuck up. "Come on, Ian. Stop it. Iggy's here."

"Iggy's here? Hi Iggy. You're the best," Ian said.

"I thought Mickey was the best," Iggy said.

Mickey sighed. Branford's place wasn't really that far away from Mickey's apartment, but this drive was going to feel like it took a million years. Mickey just knew it.


	9. Chapter 9

Ian woke up, slowly and reluctantly, his mouth dry and his head pounding. It was a feeling he'd had many times before, and he looked around to see where he was. It was reassuring, at least, that he was fully clothed so probably hadn't had sex the previous night.

When he finally managed to pry his gritty-feeling eyes open, he realized he was in Mickey's bed, and surprisingly, Mickey was in there with him, and Ian was holding him tightly. Ian was too warm and his arm was asleep under Mickey's body, but even in his state of drug hangover, he hadn't felt this sense of home for a long time.

"Hey," he said against the back of Mickey's neck. He'd always been able to tell when Mickey was awake.

"Hey," Mickey said.

"Any reason I'm in here with you that I should know about?" Ian said. He yawned. "Last I remember we were in the car with Iggy."

"I didn't take advantage of you when you were drugged, Ian. Jesus."

Ian chuckled. He hadn't really thought that Mickey had. He'd kind of hoped they'd made out or something, though. "So what am I doing in your bed?"

"I was monitoring you. Make sure you weren't about to OD or nothing," Mickey said.

Ian sat up, running his hand over his face. "Nah. I'm an old hand at getting drugged by sicko older guys. I mean, it takes a little practice, but I'm good at it by now."

"I think I broke the fucker's leg," Mickey said. "You think he'll bother you anymore?"

"Nah," Ian said. "He seemed pretty scared of you. I think he's a coward."

"He certainly didn't seem like he'd taken too many punches," Mickey said. "He practically cried when I punched him in the nose. I was trying to break it, to be fair."

"My hero," Ian said faintly.

"Did you want to try to get the money he owed you? We could get some guys and go over there," Mickey said.

"No. I think I'd better cut my losses on that. I think the idea that my pimp was putting money away for me for my retirement was kind of like some kind of intelligence test that I failed. I never should have believed it. And if it exists, he can take it as severence pay. I mean, he's more likely to let me go if me leaving is as painless for him as possible."

"Won't be painless with a broken nose and a broken leg," Mickey said.

"You didn't have to do that," Ian said. He grinned at Mickey. "I'm not mad at you for doing it, but you didn't have to."

"You still want to go back to Fiona's? I can take you after breakfast, if you want," Mickey said.

Ian felt a numbness develop in his chest and then spread throughout his body. Somehow he'd thought he was back here for good. He'd thought Mickey monitoring him was just code for the idea that he didn't want to let go of him. He nodded his head absently and Mickey huffed in exasperation.

"What about the program at the hospital? I mean, if you're leaving it's going to be a lot harder to keep you on my insurance. They were bending the rules to have you on my policy before we were married already. I mean, I spent a lot of time getting all the paperwork together. You just fine with throwing that all away because I pissed you off?" Mickey asked.

"Wait, what?" Ian asked. "It's not my fault you're kicking me out. Why are you blaming me?"

"I'm not kicking you out, Gallagher. But you left. You want to go. I'm not trying to guilt you into staying. I'm not going to drug you or forcibly confine you if you don't want to be here. I'm pretty tough to live with. I know that. Probably should have worked on my issues or my social skills or whatever. I'm sorry I upset you. I never thought one little argument would have meant you went back to that freak—or even back to Fiona."

"I know. I know that was probably surprising to you. I just. I realized, I guess. That this isn't just nothing, for you. This is you letting me live in your place, which isn't huge. I'm in your space constantly. You're trusting me with your son. I'm a big part of your life and you're getting nothing out of it. You won't even let me pay you back in blowjobs. I mean, I guess I just realized that...maybe I got healthy enough to realize that this is too much of an imposition."

"I wouldn't offer if it was too much," Mickey said.

Ian started to laugh helplessly. "You wouldn't know too much if you tripped over it. You gave me so much of yourself, before I broke up with you. Mick, you were paper thin. You think I could look at you knowing how I'd used you up? Fuck. Maybe I could do that if I didn't love you so much, Mick. But I love you more than...more than I love me. You're better off without me. Always have been."

"Fuck you," Mickey said.

"Couldn't drag you down then. And now, you've worked so hard to be this upstanding citizen. Didn't want you to end up in the mud with me," Ian said.

"Then fucking lift yourself up!" Mickey shouted. "I can't do it for you. But I'll be there for you every step of the way if you step the fuck up."

"Can't promise you anything," Ian said.

"Fuck you. You can promise me everything. You just don't want to. You just don't love me that much. You couldn't promise me you'd be faithful to me. You couldn't promise me you'd stay. You couldn't promise me you'd take your meds. Fuck you. You can promise. You can...you can hold yourself to a standard. You can promise things if you really want to. You're not trying!"

Ian felt tears well up in his eyes. "You're not being fair. I thought we were going to start over. Leave all that shit behind."

"Just promise me you're going to get your life better. For you. So you can be the Ian you want to be, whoever that guy is."

"Even if I quit taking my meds?"

"That what you want?"

"No. But you said you wanted me to get myself right. Well, your doctor friend was right. I never really tried doing everything medically recommended to make myself better. The drug regiment is important but it's not the only thing. I never had all the things. I could never get all the parts lined up. But if I try it and I still feel the same way about the pills and I stop taking them, will you hate me then?"

"I could never hate you, Ian," Mickey said. "I think there's lots of people who live with bipolar and don't take meds. I don't know what's going to work for you, ultimately. I do know I don't want to be with you if you're unmedicated. That's not a judgment thing. It's a self-preservation thing. I know how much energy it took to keep you from murdering people and hallucinating and...fuck, what if you were living here with me, unmedicated, and you killed yourself? I'd never forgive myself, Ian. So, no. I wouldn't hate you. But I couldn't date you."

"That's...something you would do? Date me? Really?" Ian asked. Mickey had hinted before, but this was the first time that Ian had had a clear indication that Mickey might actually take him back one day.

Mickey scowled as though he hadn't meant to say that, and then took a breath and expelled it slowly. "I've always wanted that. I love you, Ian. You know that. Doesn't matter how much time passed or what you did. So you do what you need to. Please, live here and make use of the program I got you into. Make your own choices. But know I can only be with you if you're making healthy choices. It can't be like it was before. I mean, I know you can be making all the right choices and then you have a setback anyway. I don't mean that. I don't mean I'll dump you at the first sign of trouble. I mean, I want you to really try. Really invest."

"I'm going to be the best participant in that program anyone's ever seen," Ian said.

"You take your meds lately?"

"Fuck," Ian said. He'd missed a couple during all the drama the previous night, and he was late for his morning dosage. Luckily there was a nurse he could text to ask her how he should proceed, and she told him how much to take and when to catch up to his dosage.

By the time he had all of that sorted he was showered and he found Mickey making eggs in the kitchen.

"I know you ate something with your meds, but you want me to put some eggs on for you?" Mickey asked.

"Thanks," Ian said. He watched Mickey as he moved around the kitchen, getting all the pieces of breakfast put together. Mickey put a plate of eggs and bacon in front of Ian and he tried it, thinking it was the nicest tasting food he'd had in a while. "Yev coming back today?"

Mickey rolled his eyes. "Mandy thinks the situation is too volatile for Yev. Like his whole childhood wasn't volatile so far. I guess she thinks she's punishing me for taking the risk of going after you like that."

"You told her everything?"

"Iggy can't keep his mouth shut," Mickey said.

"Sorry," Ian said.

"Fuck sorry. I'm always going to come for you. Always take care of you. I'll always protect you, Ian. Always. Mandy knows that. Besides, bitch thinks she's punishing me and really I get a free fucking babysitter and a kid free day out of the deal. Let's just hang out and watch action movies today," Mickey said.

"You get started. I have some stuff to do," Ian said. Mickey's face looked wounded for a moment and then went completely blank and Ian immediately thought about what he'd said and amended it, saying, "I have to go for a run. I have to mediate and write in my journal. I'm not going to take a day off from treatment. Not anymore."

Ian wasn't imagining the relief in Mickey's smile. "Cool. Wait, you sure you should run today? You're probably dehydrated. You were drugged last night. Maybe you could do yoga instead or something."

Ian knew a few years ago he would have been annoyed at Mickey for telling him what to do, but he pushed the feeling of irritation away and thought about it. Maybe Mickey was right. "I'll text the nurse. Maybe I'll drink some Gatorade and do everything else first, and run if the nurse thinks it's okay."

"So you're going to tell them you got drugged?"

"I think I have to, don't you? I mean, if I'm really in this, I have to tell them who I really am. I have to be able to be honest in therapy. It won't ruin our cover story if I tell the truth, will it?"

"I told the doctor you'd been a sex worker," Mickey said. "I hope...I mean, it wasn't really my story to tell. I hope that's okay."

"No, it's fine. You weren't ashamed to tell people you know that you were marrying someone like me?" Ian said.

"There ain't no one else like you, Ian. I love you just the way you are. I wish for your sake you hadn't had those experiences, but maybe they'll make you that much more determined to build a new life."

"You have to kiss me once after saying something like that," Ian said, his voice low.

Mickey sighed. "When you're right you're right. Just one to tide us over until things settle down and you take me out somewhere fancy for a date."

Butterflies fluttered in Ian's stomach like he was fifteen again, and Ian nearly forgot to breathe. He hadn't thought he could feel like that again; he'd thought he was too jaded to feel those jittery nerves at the thought of kissing someone. And it was Mickey, who he'd had more sex with than anyone else on earth and kissed for hours. The thought of kissing him should be comforting. Homey. Familiar. But instead it felt dangerous and thrilling and way too important.

When their lips touched, it wasn't like the years melted away. It wasn't like coming home. It wasn't like wires crossing and making a spark.

It was like kissing Mickey fucking Milkovich, and Ian never wanted it to end.


	10. Chapter 10

Mickey was nervous. He hadn't been nervous confronting that dick-pimp of Ian's, he hadn't been nervous when he'd applied for his job, he hadn't been nervous when some douche at Yev's school had heard his name and reported him to CPS for being a Milkovich (he'd aced all their assessments) but he was nervous now.

He'd been called into the HR office because of some 'irregularities' on his file. He wondered if he was going to be arrested. He'd never been particularly worried about being arrested in the past; jail didn't scare him. For a lot of years jail had been his safe place.

He kind of had a lot of lose, now. He knew Mandy and Iggy would take care of Yev as best they could if he got sent up, and Ian was getting so much better he'd probably do fine back with his family. But if he got arrested for an insurance scam right now, he'd lose them both. He couldn't expect Ian to wait for him, and who knows if Yev would even remember him if he was gone for a year or two.

Felicity, the cute, heavily made-up woman in her forties who ran the HR department, came to get him and take him from the waiting room into her office.

"So," she began when they'd both said down. "When's the wedding?"

Mickey fought the urge to say a random date. It would probably seem more suspicious than just telling the truth. "We haven't picked a date yet."

She closed the file in front of her and looked at Mickey carefully. "Is there going to be a wedding? I saw that Ian's been included in the bipolar program, and I saw that you haven't taken advantage of the friends and family sessions."

"That's not…I know what bipolar is like. I know how to support him. I've been through this stuff with him for years," Mickey said.

"Look, I know what it's like to have a partner who has a mental illness. It's a lot. There's a lot of pain. Symptoms sometimes…well, you might end of feeling betrayed and hurt. You have to be really tough. I also know that it might be tempting to…stay with him because he's doing better on the program, but not really want to commit. Maybe you feel like once he's better, you can find someone easier. It's a lot."

"I love Ian," Mickey said. "Seeing him work this program so hard, it's made me love him more, you know? He's stronger than I am. I've lived through a lot, but the things he's had to come back from…the things he's had to accept about himself? He's strong, and I admire him. And I want to spend the rest of my life with him."

"So why no wedding date?"

"The program. Ian's still figuring it all out. He couldn't really do school or a good job until now. I don't want to put pressure on him. I mean, we should just get married at city hall, but we've loved each other for so long…since we were teenagers. We stayed together through my homophobic father, through him going off the rails, through thick and thin, man. I kind of want a real wedding; the kind where you invite everyone you know and half the neighborhood. That kind of thing would be really stressful for Ian and I don't want to bring it up until he's settled."

Felicity smiled. "So then I can expect an invite when the time comes?"

Mickey felt his cheeks heat and was vaguely pissed off that he was blushing. "Yeah, of course. You really helped us out. I mean, I know you bent the rules for us. And I'm grateful."

"Well, from what you told me, it's not like you hadn't cohabitated for the stipulated amount of time at some point in the past, you know? Anyway, you've got a really good employment record, Mickey, and we try to take care of our own."

"Well, thanks, again," he said.

"I really think you should go to the friends and family sessions, Mickey. I think you have a good handle on everything, but do you ever wonder if you're too careful with Ian? Maybe he doesn't need your kid gloves. Maybe he would really like to have a wedding to plan and look forward to," Felicity said.

Since she apparently got reports when he went or didn't go, Mickey realized he'd probably have to bite the bullet and go to the friends and family sessions. As for the wedding, he hadn't really been lying about wanting a big one when and if he and Ian ever decided to tie the knot. Mickey felt bad about the whole insurance fraud thing, because technically he and Ian weren't even dating, but they had an obligation to think about marriage all the time. Mickey would be lying if he said that he didn't want that someday, but he wasn't sure how Ian felt about it.

Ian had been making himself scarce lately. He had a good routine he was following, with lots of therapy and exercise and hobbies and activities. Mickey wasn't sure if he was staying out of the house to avoid friction, or if he'd moved on from his interest in Mickey. Mickey tried not to be hurt, and he tried not to push. He'd left the ball in Ian's court. When Ian decided he was ready to date Mickey, he'd ask him out, and they'd go on a date. It had been a while, and Ian seemed great, so it was hard to see why he was hesitating. Ian had been hung over that day. Maybe he didn't even want Mickey and he'd just been upset.

There was that look in his eye, though. Not the lustful looks that Ian sometimes shot at him and he couldn't help but return (he hadn't been laid in a really long time, which was unusual for him, and oh yeah, it was Ian), but the longing look. That look that Ian couldn't seem to control that made women smile softly at them both. The look that had finally made Shelley turn to Mickey and say, "oh, I guess I see it. I see why you would marry this fuckup."

Ian didn't wear his heart on his sleeve, but he simply and nakedly showed his adoration and love for Mickey constantly, every time he looked at him. So even when a month went by after that kiss, Mickey didn't give up hope, and he didn't push. Ian would have pushed, because that was the guy he was. But Mickey could wait for this. At least he got to see Gallagher all the time. He got to be his friend, hang out with him and keep him safe. He knew what it was like to wonder constantly if Ian was okay. Maybe they were just friends right now, but that was so much better than the alternative.

When he eventually went to the friends and family sessions, he worked on some of his issues with bipolar. He realized he felt guilty for possibly being the cause of Ian's first breakdown, and for letting him go even after the breakup, when that decision had led to some terrible things in Ian's life. He realized that he was afraid that accepting Ian back into his life meant that he had decided he would be cheated on, disregarded and hurt, and he allowed the rest of the group to convince him that Ian being bipolar didn't mean he had a license to cheat, and that Mickey deserved to think about himself once in a while, too. He didn't have to be sacrificed on the altar of Ian's illness the way he'd been before.

Mickey started to see that maybe he and Ian didn't have to repeat the same behaviors and they could be who they wanted to be. They weren't kids who didn't know anything about anything anymore. And they were best friends.

Fiona was the first one to approach Mickey. "So, when are you going to go out with my brother? He's crazy in love with you. You have to know that."

Mickey shook his head. "You did some sketchy shit back in the day, but you always knew how to stay out of other people's relationships, Fi. You think you could stick to that policy?"

"I don't get it, though. You're still fake engaged to him. You live with him. You support him with every part of your heart and soul. You co-parent your kid with him. Why won't you throw him your bone?"

"Gross," Mickey said. He looked down. He sensed that Fiona wasn't interfering idly. She was truly concerned, and apparently hadn't talked to Ian about it. "We decided that we want that. To get back together. But we're going to do it right. Date first. And when Ian's ready, he's going to ask me."

Fiona looked scornful. "I thought you two banged before you'd ever really had a conversation. I mean, I know gay culture. I know gay guys make me look like a nun, and I ain't no nun. Guys can separate sex from feeling. Why don't you just fuck around?"

"I would be up for that. Ian…I think Ian has been dealing with some shit surrounding his sexual behavior in therapy. I think he wants to like, be healthy. He was a prostitute and a party boy for years, Fi. You know that, right? I mean, I can wait, if he needs time."

"Jesus, Mickey. You're such a good boyfriend," Fiona said.

"Not his boyfriend yet," Mickey said.

"He wouldn't hold it against you if you hooked up with other guys," Fiona said. "I'm sure he wouldn't."

"Other guys aren't him," Mickey said. It wasn't that he was trying to seem particularly virtuous or win points or sound like a sap, but it was the truth. "He can hook up with other guys if he has to. Maybe that's what he's doing when he's out of the apartment. But he's the one for me, and I'll wait until he's ready. He told me he wanted me, and I'll believe that until he tells me different."

"He's not hooking up with other guys. Why do you think I asked you about this? He was telling Carl he'd never gone so long without sex in his entire life. I mean, I guess it's cool. I always said Gallaghers don't do therapy, but the both of you are really kind of convincing me that maybe we should. I mean, AA did Lip a world of good and they aren't even really therapists. What could he do with a professional helping him out?"

Mickey shrugged. He'd gotten closer with Lip, but he still didn't really like the guy.

Renee asked about Ian at work that day, and Mickey smiled at her and said, "I'm going to marry him one day."

Her eyes widened. "What, you asked him? For real?"

"No," Mickey said. "But I will. Or he will. And you're invited when we do. And when you're helping me make up invitations, you've got to remind me that I promised to invite Felicity in HR."


End file.
